


Heavenward

by HeeToTheHo



Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universes, Child Dante, Child Vergil, DMC Reboot - Freeform, DmC: Devil May Cry - Freeform, Fix-It, Gen, Most of the time, No Romance, OCs Are There For Plot, Sort Of, Vergil Fixes Things, Vergil fucks shit up, Vergil-centric, Violence, and if pretending to be an older relative to adopt the twins, but in a good way this time, but they mean well, dimension hopping, he just wants his family back okay, probably self-indulgent as hell, the OCs are meddlesome meddlers, then so be it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeeToTheHo/pseuds/HeeToTheHo
Summary: Vergil expected agonizing death, but he surely didn’t expect mercy and a second chance.





	1. i loved you

**Author's Note:**

> ... let's just say I was very late to the party that is the DmC party.

It was almost ironic, that Dante’s betrayal and refusal to follow him hurts worse than Rebellion biting deep into Vergil’s chest, gnawing through muscle and bone to tear into his heart. The most literal heartbreak, caused by his beloved brother. Vergil wanted to cry, then, and he wanted to cry now. But he is Vergil, Sparda’s son borne of ice and focus, of restraint and carefully controlled power. Vergil isn’t like Dante, and so he doesn’t cry.

_He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t_-

Vergil hobbles away, heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest as he bleeds, bleeds, bleeds. Precious red liquid, his blood, staining his coat, the blue embroidery. The red eating up the blue. How appropriate. The blue embroidery, beautiful and still, is Vergil. And Dante, the vicious, all-consuming blood.

He press a hand over his gaping chest in a futile attempt at stemming the blood flow, and Yamato, his ever faithful companion, sings a mourning song in his grasp as he slices cleanly through the fabric of space.

His chest hurts. His _heart_ hurts. But he can’t cry. He can’t. He _shouldn’t_.

He turns, looks over his shoulder, eyes stinging with unshed tears and head hurting with his confusion and pain, pain, pain, pain and betrayal and the feeling of longing and desperation that threatens to expand in his chest and tear him from the inside out. He turns, looks at Dante, his brother, the other half of his soul, his reason of being.

“I _loved you_, brother.” Vergil chokes out, throat tight. It was true. He loves Dante. It was a love that was so encompassing, a love that is both too much and not enough, a love that can’t be explained with words known to the human tongue.

Vergil loves Dante, like how he should, like how brothers should. His confession is his last desperate attempt, his last shot at having his brother back, having Dante back, and with nothing tearing them apart anymore. Vergil sets down his devotion at Dante’s feet, his heart displayed at its most vulnerable. And Dante-

Dante closes his eyes.

Looks away.

Vergil feels his heart break for the second time, and the ringing in his ears has become a loud, deafening screech. He feels numb, feels wholly disconnected, mind, body, and soul.

Rejected.

He is rejected. His love, cast aside, by the only person he lives for. He is rejected, and for what? The pitiful humans that would never be able to fathom the lengths Vergil and Dante had gone through to save them. Vergil’s only remaining family… rejected him.

Utterly. Irrevocably.

Weakened, hurt, and despairing, Vergil falls through the portal.


	2. healing and strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll keep the chapters short. school is a vampire hnnnng
> 
> i hope i make updates frequent, but... i doubt it, hahaha

When Vergil fell through the portal, it felt like there were hooks digging deep into his skin, pulling him down, down, _down_ amidst the screaming of the damned, hellfire and demons rushing up to him, filling his vision, blinding him to nothing else. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs to scream, let alone breathe, so he's stuck there, falling, falling, falling.

Stuck there because his plans have been thrown away, his love rejected, his only family abandoning him.

The chains yank him down faster, much more violently, as his skin and clothes start to tear and ooze blood and black tar. Agony rips through him, maybe physical, maybe it's all mental-

_Son of Sparda Son of Sparda Son of Sparda Son of Sparda Son of Sparda Son of Sparda Son of Sparda traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor son of the traitor son of the whore weak weak weak weak foolish FOOLISH AND NAÏVE_-

The voices scream up at him as Vergil falls to hell; a malignant chorus of wailing from the souls of the damned. He could only stare, stupefied and scared as phantom, twisted and mutilated limbs reached out for him futilely, in an attempt to drag him down faster, drag him down, down, _down_.

_He's going to Hell, he's going to Hell, he's going to Hell, he's going to Hell, he's going to Hell, he's going to Hell-_

He's going to Hell, falling and falling until he wasn't. Suddenly, he wasn't falling, suspended in mid-air in this hellish nightmare (or is it his reality now) like gravity ceased its grip on him. The screaming goes louder, louder, louder until it's an incomprehensible mess tearing up his ears. Red, so much red, blood red, Dante red, red fills his vision, a colour he liked but now loathed.

Hands, six hands, wrap around him, but not to choke the life out of him. Those hands, so cold against his skin and face, a balm to the burning inferno that is hell. The hands are cold, but they are gentle and firm as they wrap around him, supporting him. They yank out the chains, frees him from being dragged down, and those hands freeze the blood in his veins, the cold chilling him soul-deep.

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he's being lifted up. Dragged upwards instead of downwards, and he can finally breathe, can finally swallow down the glass filling his throat. Red recedes from his vision, and blue returns. Blue, the colour that has always been comforting to him, a balm to his soul.

Here, in this hell-scape that is either real or a figment of his fractured mind, he feels himself slowly being lulled to sleep, despite everything that happened. Despite the hole in his chest. Despite the pain that he feels. It would be so easy, to just let go.

"We got you," A voice whispers in his ear, neither male nor female. Just a presence. A comforting one, exuding cold and comfort. "We're not losing you. Not this time."

He doesn't understand, but…

Vergil feels his eyes slip close, his head loll against one of the hands cradling him, utterly exhausted and spent.

He falls asleep.

* * *

Vergil sleeps fitfully, though to call it 'sleep' would be too kind, too generous. It's more of something along the lines of suspended animation, really, with the way his current state is. Unconscious, but a little aware of his immediate vicinity. Could hear voices, but not make out the words clearly. He could feel, hands on his forehead, fingers combing through his hair. Hand over the gaping hole in his heart.

It was a half-life, barely dead, barely alive, and it was frustrating how he keeps sinking in and out of unconsciousness, the completely blackness and emptiness sitting just behind his eyes.

He knows, but it isn't enough.

So he could only wait in pained inactivity, the feeling of impatience (and fear and terror and uncertainty and doubt and fear and terror and Dante Dante Dante Dante _Dante-_) feels like bugs under his skin. The coldness that comes and goes with the gentle hands that touch him from time to time. Those few, precious seconds where those cold hands would grace him with their comfort, his state was easier to bear during those moments. They're far too short, and Vergil has grown far too greedy.

Yet, he lets himself rest, recover, lets his body slowly take back what it lost.

He goes back under.

* * *

"He's taking quite a while," It was the male voice. Vergil can finally hear clearly, but only that. He still sinks and rises from the ocean of exhaustion, but that's fine. The fact that he can hear clearly now, means he's on his way to completely being healed. Means well. Nephilim he may be, but… Rebellion and Yamato are slayers of demons and angels. And Vergil has half of each. "But at least he's healing."

"Fuckin' got there in time," The female. So crass, so vulgar. Her manner of speaking makes Vergil twitch; she speaks like Dante, like his brother. It's… unsettling. Upsetting. "I honestly don't know why are we doing this, but you better be glad that I gave a shit 'bout this guy. Honestly…"

Quiet, then the soft swishing of cloth. Vergil feels the dip of the bed, close to his left arm, and long, dainty fingers – but with palms roughened and calloused – comb through his hair. Vergil sighs in relief, turns towards it. "And I'm thankful that you're benevolent enough to provide assistance, dear sister," The third voice. The one who doesn't sound male or female. The youngest of the _three_ _siblings_. "We have talked about this-"

"'Our reality or not, the Spardan bloodline must be held precious and must be preserved', blah, blah, I fucking _get it_. Just…" There was a momentary pause. "Why does it gotta be Vergil? Of all the goddamn people? We could've… I don't know, went back farther? Or you know. Dealt with the fuckwad Mundus ourselves?"

Ever since he could start hearing, these people, his… saviours, keeps saying peculiar things. Too peculiar, too nonsensical. There's context needed, a backstory that needs to be shared, but as Vergil can't ask questions… He's left in the dark. Confused. But he listens, he and files away phrases. Names. Actually he files away everything.

When he wakes up, there will be _questions_.

* * *

He had opened his eyes, but, it's all…

"Huh." A blob of… something, passes back and forth in front of his defective gaze. "That's… odd."

"It is," Vergil's voice is a raspy croak, and it hurts to talk. He touches a hand to his throat, almost surprised by the feel of his own fingers. "W-water."

One of the colourful blobs left, only to return. Those cold, cold hands support him, holds him steady while another tips his head back, a cold glass of water pressed to his lips. "Slowly now," He does so, too tired and in too much pain and discomfort to turn away their attention and coddling. "That's it, good."

Vergil manages to slowly empty the glass, and he already feels better for it, can feel the cold settling under his skin, eases the burning. Those hands settle him back against the mountain of pillows – he was sure he only had one while he slept – and he breathes softly. He tries to focus on one of the siblings, but considering his damaged sight (which honestly makes no sense) he's not sure if he's looking at anyone properly.

"So…" He begins slowly. "I have questions."

He could practically _feel_ their smiles. "And we have answers." The female, the eldest child, purrs.


	3. fortunato siblings

It felt nice, now that he’s given comfortable clothes more his style – slacks, gloves, a turtleneck that seems suspiciously designer – and moving to the ‘office’ shared by the siblings. Yamato is returned to him, and he feels relaxed, at ease, and that’s surprising. After all, in the presence of these three strange people, who seems to know things they shouldn’t - who knows  _ him _ \- should put him on alert, their presence and awareness of him should have grated on his nerves. 

But no. If anything, they make him feel… comfortable. Which is completely ridiculous, but considering what he just went through, Vergil supposes that’s just his brain being not completely rebooted yet. Maybe he’ll be anxious and go into panic later.

Later, after he has his answers. 

So, Vergil, finally up on his feet – wobbly, true, but finally needing no assistance - he follows the siblings. A quick sweep of his eyes revealed that these siblings live in… relative opulence. Marble flooring, a thick fur rug smack dab in the middle of the room, Renaissance-esque furniture heavily leaning towards whites and golds. The lights are soft above them, casting a warm glow over the room, makes it feel homely, really. 

And there, in the middle of the ceiling, is a rather… odd symbol. Gold. Massive. Bold and eye-catching. A logo of sorts? Though, a horned sword with a single wing is a rather odd design for a logo, if Vergil is being honest. 

But then again, The Order’s own logo is odd in its own way, so he supposes he doesn’t have much ground to stand on in the graphic design department. 

The youngest sibling – to Vergil’s surprise – is the one who sits behind the desk, whilst the other two stood to the side and a little further back. Presented with this image, it’s clear that the youngest sibling – so young, probably younger than Vergil himself – is their leader of sorts. Vergil knows he must be wary of that one, if the older siblings are fine with referring to their youngest with the decision-makings and calls.

It… It almost reminds Vergil of how things were back then, when Dante listened to him, did what Vergil asked of him-

“So,” Despite the youngest one sitting on the desk, it was the eldest girl, one of the two brunettes, who speaks first . She crosses her arms, cocking a brow at Vergil with a cat-like grin. “You got questions. We got answers.” 

“Before asking, you might wanna sit down,” The other brunette, the male sibling, said. “Pretty sure this will be a long talk.”

“We’ll try to make things short as possible, but, fuck knows we need you to hear us out.” The older sister speaks up, shrugging. “So sit your ass down, listen up, and don’t dismiss whatever we gotta say with the drop of a fucking hat, alright?” 

Vergil hesitates. Her words make him wary, but… as they said, they have answers, and Vergil doesn’t have anything to lose, really. Maybe he’s trusting too much, but so far, they’ve been nothing but helpful, maybe going as far to ensure he survived even,  _ his _ best interests at heart. He’ll know more about them, in time, so with that said…

“Alright,” He takes a seat, tries not to sigh in relief at how comfortable his seat is, and nods at the siblings. “Shall we, then?”

The youngest finally reacts, smiling a thin smile at him, and behind their ‘leader’, the two brunette siblings look at each other with matching grins. 

As they asked of him, Vergil listens, and he listens to them well, mind working, parsing, remembering, and taking note. He’s good at that, talking, thinking, analysing. Mental acrobatics has always been his forte, and he knows it would serve him well. 

Camilla, the oldest. The oldest  _ twin _ sister. First born of their mother. Following her almost immediately is her younger  _ twin brother _ , Valerius. Camilla and Valerius share the same dark brown hair, and while all three siblings had jewel-like eyes, theirs are vivid green. 

And finally, their youngest, is Aquila (funny, didn’t Dante had a weapon of the same name-) and their mother’s last born, with snow white hair, and eyes vivid blue. Compared to Camilla and Valerius – who are definitely adults in body, but maybe not in personality – Aquila is awfully young. Young enough that Vergil had interrupted once to ask how old the youngest is. 

Aquila simply replied that they just turned 18 a handful of weeks earlier, and moved on like there’s nothing wrong. Too flabbergasted to protest or question at the moment, Vergil listened to their story. 

It was ridiculous, if he’s being honest. Parallel worlds? Alternate lives and realities? Accessible with only a swipe of Aquila’s prized swords – of Japanese make, same a Yamato, but a paired chokuto and tanto instead of a katana – and then path between worlds, between realities,  _ and crossing time _ is possible? Vergil wanted to dismiss it as insanity, but…

Not long ago, he and Dante killed the Demon King. Their Uncle. And Limbo – Hell – became one with the human world. 

So he keeps his quiet, in the meantime, and listens some more. 

Aquila spoke of them – meaning the siblings – leaving their original reality for reasons that doesn’t concern him, and after jumping through countless alternate worlds and times, they might as well help those who need it along the way, right? Might as do something that would make their never ending travels important and fulfilling. 

And Vergil is their current ‘target’. 

“Why me?” Vergil asks, during a lull in the story. “I heard you once, before. Miss Camilla-“

“Just ‘Cami’ is fine-“

“- Miss Camilla said she preferred it better if you were helping _ Dante _ , and not m-me,” Vergil coughs uncomfortably, embarrassed at the sudden breaking of his voice at the last word. He looks at each one of them, at Aquila’s impassive eyes, Valerius nervous gaze, and finally meets Camilla’s challenging stare, her chin tilted with confidence, eyes narrowed and dangerous. “So, I’ll again. Why me?” 

Camilla snorts, cocking her head to the side as she addresses him. “Oh, believe me, I want to punch your shit-eating face more than fucking  _ anything _ in this world,” She readily admits, and her twin shoots her a panicked look, seemingly wanting to make her shut up but too afraid to do so. “But, Aquila wanted you alive, and wanted you to finally fucking win or some shit like that.”

“You mean to say, you’re staying your hand because your youngest sibling says so?”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

Vergil stares, before shaking his head. Camilla’s answer was… brutally honest, but. In a way, it was reassuring. He could do without her vulgar mouth, though. “… I see.” 

Camilla smiles like a hunter catching scent of her prey’s blood. “Nah, you don’t.” She refutes, and Vergil bites his tongue so as not to react. Or curse her out. 

“A-anyway, back to your question,” Valerius speaks up this time, and it’s obvious to Vergil that out the three of them, it’s the middle child who can be surprisingly meek; his arrogance and cocky demeanour a front to fool people. Not that it works well. “Well, we’ve… been to another reality like this one, but... we arrived years after your fight with your brother. You ruled the world, in that reality.” 

Vergil sits up. Had… He succeeded with his original plans? Has he convinced Dante to finally see truth? What their birth right is? “I ruled?” He asks, voice unsteady with his… Excitement? His eagerness? His overflowing emotions? 

Valerius glances at his siblings, biting his lip. “Yes.” He confirms, though there’s something in his tone that quickly has Vergil on edge. “You ruled the human realm. Unchallenged. Not by anyone.” 

Vergil can’t help the grin of pleasure that overtakes his face. It may not be himself that succeeded, but. A victory is a victory. “That’s… that’s great!” He can help but exclaim, unable to help himself from rising to his feet, pacing across the marble floor as enthusiasm returns to him, the hope that has been crushed and ground to dust starting to stir within his chest. “That means I have a chance, I can still go back and do what should’ve been done-“

The kiss of cold metal at the side of his neck had Vergil stopping immediately. 

Fear runs hot in his blood; he’s Nephilim, the divine offspring of an angel and a demon, so how could someone sneak up on him?!

“Don’t even fucking  _ think _ about going down that route, Vergil.” Camilla paces to stand in front of him, and Vergil has his wind knocked out of him. 

He focuses on nothing else but the way that her eyes are no longer green but  _ red _ , and her hands and forearms are encased in ornately made gauntlets. The metal is thick, carved to resembled muscle and bone, and between the fingers, wickedly sharp blades curve over her fingers, reaching past the tips to for claws almost a foot long. 

And those claws are currently pressed right up against his jugular. One swipe – if she manages to land a hit – would cut through his neck. Vergil isn’t sure his Nephilim healing can heal even  _ that _ .

Camilla makes a soft sound, and Vergil realizes that  _ she _ is literally looking down on  _ him _ , a couple inches taller than him even without heels. Up close, her form fitting long-sleeved shirt only highlights how muscular she is. Hell her bicep is thicker than  _ his _ . “You shouldn’t be too quick to celebrate,  _ Son of Sparda _ .” There’s an odd twist to her lips as she says the title with fond mockery, and Vergil can’t make sense of it. He suddenly can’t make sense of anything, with the way there’s suddenly pressure on his chest, making him unable to breathe, unable to think- “Every Saviour-damned time I meet a version of Vergil, you’re really an egotistic fuck, aren’t ya?”

“But I’m not-“

“Do you want to know why my sister is acting like this?” The youngest suddenly speaks up, and Vergil tilts his head just so, enough to see Aquila, looking at him with the same indifferent eyes. The same placid expression. “It’s because your ‘rule’ was made on bones and blood.”

Vergil clenches his fist, pursing his lips. “All kingdoms have been erected on the bones and blood of the fallen.” He can’t help but hiss. “If I slay a thousand enemies to fashion my own castle, then  _ so be it. _ ”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Valerius moves to lean in front of the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Vergil with something akin to discomfort. “You didn’t kill an… an enemy.” 

Vergil scoffs. “Humans?” He spits the word out like it’s an acid, something foul and disgusting. Why does no one understand? Why does no one understand that humans need a  _ ruler _ , someone to guide them, protect them, and discipline them like the errant children they were?!

Aquila stands up then, graceful, walking towards him with measured steps. Vergil tenses, because despite Camilla being the one with the claws to his neck, his sense of danger practically  _ wails _ as Aquila approaches- no,  _ stalks  _ toward him. 

“The crown that symbolized your rule,” Aquila says quietly, and Vergil meets the eyes of the youngest sibling, and Vergil feels absolute fear trickle down his spine. Aquila leans up on their toes, a hand on Vergil’s shoulder to steady themselves. There’s static in his ears, loud and deafening. 

Aquila whispers, and Vergil feels his missing heart completely stop. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun duuuuuuun cliffhanger! :D


	4. what path do you chose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was about to make Vergil suffer more
> 
> But then I remember this fandom has enough angst to last a lifetime. Rest assured, actual fluff will come soon.

They took good care of him as he recovered, the Fortunato siblings.

As he had thought, they are rich despite their youth, living in a property of their own. A mansion, to be specific, and a large one at that. Can’t be compared to Vergil’s old home in Paradise, but, the Fortunato Estate is _nothing_ to be scoffed at. Not to mention, that Estate is located outside of Limbo, a little far from the city, and oddly enough, there are barely any influence from Mundus here.

The siblings gave him his own room in the east wing, assigned him a caretaker to assist him, and most of the time, they leave him alone in his room to think. He appreciates it, the space they’re giving him, the amenities they let him have, their odd ways of being concerned for his welfare. He appreciates what they do for him, he really does.

But he still feels shaken, days after. Feels shaken and terrified of the words Aquila spoke to him.

The crown that symbolized his rule…

_Was Dante’s head_.

Vergil stomach churns, sick and horrified at the idea. He can’t imagine it, no. Never, never, never, he would _never_ do that, Dante is his _beloved brother_, the reason why Vergil did the things that he did-

Dante. He might be angry at Dante, bitter and jealous, yes, but, Vergil loves Dante way too much, has done too much for Dante. He can’t _bear_ to think, can’t bear to _imagine_ himself killing Dante. Cutting his head clean off and using it as a trophy. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he _can’t_.

Vergil’s stomach twist uncomfortably, remembering the events afterward. His fingers clutch at the book in his lap, eyes faraway as he calls yesterday’s happenings.

He had denied their claims. Twists out of Camilla’s grip, draws Yamato. He was easily disarmed and pinned on his back not a second after, by a spear in his gut, claws on his arms, and Aquila’s tanto pointing down directly at the middle of his forehead. The siblings had given him looks of sympathy, then, despite being poised to kill.

Kill _him_.

‘I will show you,’ Aquila had said. ‘And all the other ruined timelines. You are the last of this reality strand. We will _not_ _lose you_.’

So over and over and over and over. Aquila cuts through time and space with the ease of someone who has done it so many times it has become second-nature, just as easy as breathing, and Vergil is subjected to scenes, snippets of countless lifetimes and realities where _nothing good comes out of it_.

Vergil, ruler of the earth, but Dante’s head serving as his greatest trophy. Dante alive and Vergil dead, where Dante takes his life shortly after. Dante and Vergil both dead. Vergil, imprisoned by Mundus and used to make Dante suffer. Vergil, the new Hell King, and torturing the real Dante and Kat over and over and over. Dante and Vergil, both alive, but bitter enemies until the end of time. Dante, alive, but Vergil is a mere husk, a cheap fake. Both of them alive, but dragged down to the depths of hell where they watched each other suffer over and over.

All those lives, those _nightmares_ – for those could be nothing but nightmares, terrors and horrors to plague him every time he will close his eyes – and not once a good thing happened.

The entire ordeal had left Vergil shaking and unsteady, on the precipice of something too much, something he can’t _fathom_, can’t understand. But he’s afraid, that much he knows, and he’s scared, he’s scared, because he just wants his family back together, he doesn’t want to destroy it, let alone _mutilate it_-

A hand gently closes around his wrist, and Vergil looks up in alarm, meeting green eyes on a handsome face.

Valerius smiles at him, a small thing that didn’t reach his eyes. He must’ve known the direction Vergil’s thinking had taken.

“I brought you something to snack on while you read,” He says, setting a tray down. Fruit juice, and some pastry sweets. An odd combination, but at the sight of them, Vergil feels his stomach clench, demanding food. “Sorry we don’t have coffee or whatever; Aqui and Cami like sweets too much.”

Vergil tries to scrounge up a smile, but it obviously falls short. More of a grimace than anything, really. So he sighs, quietly accepts a glass of juice. He sets his book aside, too out of it to read and understand the words. “This is fine, thank you.”

They’re quiet, for a while. Valerius was content to slouch against one of the cosy armchairs, staring up at the ceiling, or at some point at the wall, or fiddling with his fingers. Vergil slowly but steadily makes his way through the refreshments Valerius had so kindly taken to him, trying to calm himself, relax. It didn’t work, not completely, but at least Vergil is sufficiently distracted from his earlier thoughts so it’s a bit easier to bear.

Glancing at Valerius briefly, Vergil opens his mouth to ask-

“If you’re gonna ask how many times have we’ve been doing this,” Valerius suddenly cuts in, a small smile playing on his lips while he continues to stare up at the ceiling. His smile is tired and weak. “I’d say too damn many. I lost count after a hundred.”

Vergil casts his eyes down. “I’m sorry.”

Valerius shrugs, moving to pull his feet up on the armchair, hugging his legs close. He sets his chin on top of them, peering at Vergil with those bright, bright green eyes of the Fortunato twins. Like this, he looks younger than he really is – the Fortunato twins are pushing _30_, can you believe that – which is a hard concept to really think about. “Don’t be. We accepted it long ago. Why do you think we’re doing things like this? Helping you and all that.”

Vergil hesitates. “… I had presumed that you’re good people…?” He ends up phrasing his statement like a question, because if he thinks about it, he’s actually still not sure as to why the siblings are really helping him.

Valerius sighs then. “If it was that simple and pure. No,” Valerius shakes his head. “We’re just plain selfish. And greedy.”

Vergil’s confused frown must’ve been a question in of itself, which is probably why Valerius continued to speak, voice light but eyes lost. As if seeing something faraway.

“The first Vergil we know, the one from our original reality, well. He was family,” Valerius pauses, makes a face, before continuing. “_Is still_ family. Me and Cami got issues with him – Cami more so – but, he’s still family. Same way Aqui is family. Same way Dante is family. Same way Ner- the others are. So yeah. Family. We’re doing everything for our family. To give them the chances to live longer, live _together_. Because honestly? We lost so much. Too much. Cami, Aqui and I, we were born to be warriors, you see. Cami and I are… aren’t supposed to exist, but we’re strong, and we had blood from an important demonic bloodline in us. Aqui is a result of a marriage between my mom’s bloodline, and the bloodline of Aqui’s dad.

“And we…” Valerius sighs again. Resigned. “We’re tired of fighting. But we can’t stop. So we-“

“Project your issues and desires on other versions of the people you knew?” Vergil cuts in with a quirked brow.

To Vergil’s surprise, Valerius throws his head back and laughs. “Probably, yeah. Maybe not a good way to deal with-“ He gestures vaguely to his temple. “-everything inside here, but. It works. It’s satisfying, and as I said, we are selfish and greedy.”

Valerius looks at him then, for a while, long enough for Vergil to start squirming under his scrutiny when Valerius did something unexpected.

The male Fortunato leans forward, leans all the way towards Vergil, and carded long, calloused fingers through Vergil’s hair. Stunned, Vergil could only stare at Valerius, who is grinning unrepentantly, clearly enjoying Vergil’s reaction. “If we’re not careful, I might just start calling you ‘little brother’ one of these days.” He chortles. Unbothered, or uncaring, Valerius keeps petting at Vergil’s hair, almost as if that was the most normal thing to do. “... A few more stuff I gotta say before Cami comes to drag my ass to music practice.”

Vergil, a little off-balance because of the hand carding through his hair, can only utter a short, “Huh?”

“In all the lives we showed you, you and Dante are separate.” Valerius says quietly. Sadly. “And the story always ends a tragedy when that happens. Why? I hope you think on that. Aqui said you’re a thinker, so I’m sure you’ll do good on this. Now, why? Why did you and Dante have to lose, over and over, the moment you both decided to tear yourselves from each other?”

Vergil had no answer.

Valerius stands up, and as he takes his hand back, the warmth on Vergil’s head disappears too.

“Think on that.” Valerius says quietly, quietly padding towards the door. “Because we can’t lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, I'm putting Vergil as 20 here. 
> 
> just to make it easy
> 
> btw, ages are: 
> 
> Cami & Val: 28, Aqui: 18, Adult Vergil: 20, Kid Vergil & Kid Dante: 8


	5. changing fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there

It was almost easy - with the foreknowledge that he has, the information he possessed considering his unique position as someone coming from the future - to prepare and take steps to weaken Mundus and his cohorts. His skills with computers are supremely useful, hacking into servers, protected databases, networks, the works. A bug there, maybe a dud here and there. Oh, and maybe program backdoors hidden cleverly for Vergil’s easy access. 

Vergil had made his decision, and damn him if he won’t see it come to fruition. 

He may have lost Dante, the Dante that is  _ his _ twin, but the Vergil of this reality, the younger version of himself, still has his twin. It’s not yet too late for them. Vergil could save them, bring them together as they should’ve been. Train them, prepare them, and make sure they survive Mundus and  _ more _ . Receive the earth as their birth right,  _ together _ . 

The younger Vergil and Dante, they shouldn’t be apart for too long. Should never have been separated in the first place, really, but Vergil understands the necessity of it. Now, though, with his presence, Vergil can get his younger self and the younger Dante, take them in. 

He could protect them better than anyone could.

Well, the Fortunato siblings could  _ probably _ be just as good but then again, they all but told Vergil it was  _ he _ who should make things right, make it so that all those other ruined timelines wouldn’t come to fruition. They’d help, they reassured him, but ultimately, it was Vergil who will make his fate. This world’s  _ fate _ . The siblings claim they’ve meddled enough with the major ‘key points’ – whatever that means – so they’re taking the backseat. For now.

That’s fine, Vergil thinks as he clacks away at the keyboard - inputting codes upon codes in the most efficient and structured manner because programmers  _ hate _ disorganized workflows the  _ most _ – because they’ve done enough. They  _ more _ than enough for him. They’ve taken care of him, helped him back up on his feet. Even gave him a hefty sum so he can start his own little business. They’ve helped him enough, so it’s high time he made his move. 

At the moment, it would be Dante who is the easier one to get to. Take back. If Vergil remembers right, Dante should still be in the orphanage – Vergil wonders why their dear father left Dante in an  _ orphanage _ – probably becoming the hellion that he is. Not that Vergil blames him. He no longer blames Dante, really, in the face of this chance to make things  _ right _ . 

Vergil finds himself distracted, losing his rhythm, so he sighs, takes his glasses off as he leans back in his seat, work forgotten at the moment. He can admit, his gut is crawling with excitement and pure, unadulterated terror at the prospect of taking Dante and his younger self in, raised them as how they  _ should’ve been raised _ . Vergil – his adult self – doesn’t even know how to raise a kid, let alone two Nephilim children. 

He could learn, maybe? There are simple child-raising help in the internet, and the Nephilim aspects- well. Maybe he can play it by ear, learn as he goes. Maybe. 

“Much work to be done,” Vergil sighs to himself, leaning forward once more and popping his neck loudly to relieve the pressure there. “So little time…” 

Vergil chews on his lips for a moment, weighing his options, his actions. He decides with a nod, hitting save on his work before firing up his other computer. 

Time to find little Dante.


End file.
